


The S Section

by grumpyphoenix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Derealiation, Mental Health Issues, Not Beta Read, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16351874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: Dean is tired, and nothing is real.





	The S Section

**Author's Note:**

> Not edited at -all-, I didn't even re-read it.

The shelf of endings has a whole section for this. HIs brother would have loved the library, wing W for Winchester. Death probably already knows that Dean saw the titles, neatly laid in a row. Alpha by subject, Asphyxiation to… well, he hadn’t gone past S. 

Sam gave him the gun back once they felt MIchael was gone for good, and it was heavier than he remembered it. Everything was. His clothing, his blanket, the dead guy robe, even the water in the shower felt heavy and ultra real, but nothing else did.

He felt peeled open and left  like that, exposed and raw. Peeled, but expected to act whole. Well, not really. Sam watches him with his melting brown gaze, and Mary took off, but Cas can see it. His eyes are too sharp, and they don’t help. He just feels more peeled.

Dean is still kind of stuck on the letter S.

He remembers the promise he was given, and at the time it  was a threat, but maybe it was an offer instead. If he goes, he goes into the black. When she’d said it, he’d imagined an eternity of falling alone in nothingness, but Cas had said that it was like sleeping.

Dean doesn’t want to go to heaven. Heaven is filled with angels, keeping people in storage for only God knows what. The thought of spending forever in a memory loop is worse than being here, and being here is unbearable. Sleeping in a quiet blackness until the death of the universe has its appeal. Maybe he’ll dream.

Half the time he isn’t sure anything is real. He comes into a room and doesn’t know why. He got lost on the way back to the bunker from a beer run, not really able to recognize the roads. Once, he forgot how to drive. He tells anyone who asks how he is, but halfway through they get uncomfortable, so now he’s fine. He was peeled open, but he stitched himself together, see? Scars. All healed up.

This gun though, is terrifyingly, comfortingly real. It’s loaded, heavy. He’s had a lifetime of hunting with this gun. More than his fair share.

Yesterday, he watched Sammy. The efficiency and competence that he displayed, running the hunting teams made him so proud. Dad would be proud. Their Bobby, too. Maybe it’s enough, he thinks. Maybe Sam has this now. So Dean can take a nap. A really long quiet nap.

It’s heavy, and still beautiful. He knows that Sam won’t use it after this, and that s a shame, but nothing else feels real, and he wants something he loves to do the job.

Dean holds the gun under his chin and closes his eyes.


End file.
